Choose Life
by anyother
Summary: Mitchell's been alone for a long time after he and Josie broke up. So it's no wonder he finds himself another girl. It's as if he's always known her. But has he?
1. Chapter 1

He was extremely good-looking. Laidback, intense. Deep brown eyes and an unruly mass of black curls. Dark pronounced eyebrows. The shadow of a beard. The first time he looked her in the eye she got all wobbly. The sudden urge to touch this total stranger made her feel uneasy. And that was even before she'd tasted the alcohol. She cupped her glass with both hands so that they wouldn't go astray.

He spoke with a warm Irish accent. She had to make an effort to absorb his words – his voice was too distracting. She wondered what it was that was so familiar about him, when the only Irish people she knew intimately were the ones she'd heard on the hours of tape she had to struggle through for her thesis. All pensioners now, or dead. And she knew more about them than was healthy.

She briefly thought of the disappointment she'd felt when most of the subjects she studied turned out to be ordinary and sometimes unattractive people. Not consistent with the romantic view she'd had of them while first reading their poetry. Whereas _he_ looked every bit the type.

She met him at Mel's party. Melanie, or Mel as she preferred to be called these days, had been dating her brother Declan when one day - now three years ago – he was stabbed to death after a drink in the pub. Since then she and Mel had remained friends. Something her parents couldn't understand. They'd never approved of Mel in the first place.

The party was Mel's birthday party, and he was an old friend of hers. At least that's how Mel introduced him. 'Mel and I go back a long way', he'd confirmed. He'd been abroad for some years, Mel explained. Which is why she'd never met him at one of Mel's social occasions before.

His name was Mitchell, and she guessed he was about five years older than she. There was something serious and very grown up in his eyes. As if he'd been through a lot. The idea made her hands twitch again. I'm not going to touch him, she told herself. Not now. But who knows?

* * *

She was still young, but there was something old and sad about her. As if life hadn't been kind to her. Her name was Lily. He liked that name. It was his cousin's name. This is all wrong, he thought. He shouldn't have consented when Mel suggested it. If only Lily knew. There was something mean about the way Mel had befriended the sister of a man she'd killed. But he owed Mel.

There had been a time when Mel hadn't been cruel. When she'd been human. A wild girl with a generous heart. And he'd taken that away from her. What worried him most was how quick she'd changed. How grateful she'd been. He'd erased every bit of humanity from her, and now it had come to this.

'No one's going to miss her. Her social life consists mainly of listening to tapes of old men nattering, and her parents haven't had eyes for her since their favourite child died. And she knows that they'd trade her for her brother if only they could. Anyway, there's something quite wrong about her. Do you know how many of my parties she's been to? Loads. And she still hasn't got a clue. Stupid cow.'

He didn't think stupid was the right word at all. He could tell from the way she talked that she was clever, thought things through. A little naïve maybe, but was that such a negative thing?

He could see she was a bit nervous. The way she held her glass and moved it to and fro on the tabletop, how now and again she bit her lip, somewhat distracted. He wondered whether that was because she thought him scary or attractive.

* * *

'So - how did you and Mel met?' she asked, and finished her drink. He'd hardly touched his.

'How I met Mel?' he asked in return, a puzzled look in his eyes. She watched his hands. He was wearing sleeveless woollen gloves. Did he work outdoors? He looked strong enough.

He scratched his head. 'We – had this thing. Way back, I mean. We're just friends now.'

His answer came as a surprise. 'Did you ever meet Declan? My brother? He and Mel – you know.' Was it the wrong thing to say? What if Declan hadn't been Mel's only boyfriend at the time of his death? But he shook his head.

'No, I didn't. I've been abroad, you see. And me and Mel, well, that was years ago.'

She didn't find his answer completely satisfactory. She figured out he and Mel must've been childhood sweethearts, which she would hardly call 'a thing'.'You two were at school together?' Did she sound too inquisitive? She noticed he didn't answer straight away. He took a big gulp of beer and nodded. Somehow she wasn't sure he was telling the truth.

* * *

'D'you want me to get you another drink?' he asked. The look on her face worried him. Maybe it would be the sensible thing to leave now, but he found he didn't really want to. He was angry at himself for letting his cover slip.

Years ago – what a transparent lie. Mel was twenty-three – well, of course she wasn't, but that was what she would make people believe. Mel had told him Lily's brother Declan had been dead for three years, and he and Mel had been together for some time before that.

'Okay.' She said.

He smiled at her reassuringly.

* * *

She watched how he picked up the drinks. He came back with two full glasses and a small platter of stuffed olives. It hadn't taken him long to convince her to leave the party with him. 'These are really good.' He said as he placed the olives in front of her.

'No garlic I hope? I hate garlic.' She said, to his surprise.

He grinned. 'Definitely no garlic.' He sat down opposite her, rested his elbows on the tabletop and raised his glass. 'Cheers.'

'Cheers.'

Things were back to normal. On the surface. He relaxed. 'Tell me about your brother.' He said.

* * *

She wondered why it was so easy to confide in him. She heard herself telling him things about Declan and the way her parents favoured him, she only ever told a couple of close friends. She watched him chew on the olives and tried not to stare at the drop of olive oil that clung to the corner of his mouth. She wondered whether he was a good kisser. When he smiled his mouth grew bigger.

'I don't think I like your parents very much.' He said.

'Yeah, well, they did lose their son, you know.'

'Sounds like they wish it had been you, dying, instead of him. Why was he more special than you are?'

She could feel he meant it. It made her feel very warm inside.

'I'm lousy at soccer.' She said. She'd just explained to him how Declan had almost made it into the selection for the first team. Not just any soccer club. He grinned. 'Wait till you see _me_ play soccer.'

About an hour later the pub closed, and she had to decide how the rest of her night would develop. Things seemed promising. She now knew for certain she wanted this gorgeous stranger. Which was funny, cause she usually didn't have much time for boyfriends, let alone for sex. To be honest sex had always been somewhat of a disappointment to her.

They were standing outside the pub, lingering.

'How old are you, Lily?' he asked.

'Twenty.'

He raised his dark eyebrows. 'How come you're writing a thesis?'

She shrugged. 'I suppose I got the brains, whereas Declan got the legs.' She sounded almost apologetic.

'You're wrong there.' He said, and looked at her. 'You've definitely got the legs.'

That was the moment she invited him home for a coffee.

* * *

She had a small living room with an open plan kitchen and an even smaller bedroom. He asked if he could use her bathroom. That was tiny as well. He splashed some water on his face and rubbed his eyes. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror. The usual shampoo, deodorant, soap and painkillers, and an enormous supply of first aid articles. Cotton wool, band aids, bandages in all sizes, the lot. Enough stock for the dispensary of an average emergency room.

Odd. She didn't act like she was a hypochondriac or over protective. And she wasn't a doctor. He almost overlooked the small bottle of pills at the back of the top shelf. The label had her name on it. He recognised the name of the medicine.

He leant against the wash basin. The bottle slipped from his hand. He took a deep breath. Bloody hell. She must be suffering from some sort of blood disorder. Coagulation problems. He counted to ten, put the bottle back in place and flushed the toilet.

She was busy making coffee when he returned to her living room. Was it possible she'd literally meant coffee when she'd asked him inside? But the way she looked at him put his mind to rest.

* * *

Now that she'd invited him in and had offered him a mug of coffee, she was confused. What if he'd only meant to come in for a coffee? When she refilled the mugs it occurred to her that that while she'd already told him most of _her_ life story, he'd managed to stay very vague about himself. She didn't think he was shy. '

Tell me something about _you_.' She said and sat down next to him. Their fingers touched when he took the mug from her, and carefully put it down.

' I will. Later.' He said.

* * *

'She's nice.' He thought while he kissed her. He wondered whether Mel knew about the blood disease. And if so, what the hell did she want from him? Too close. Her heartbeat was too loud. He had difficulty staying gentle. The thought of the blood flowing through her veins made him feel dizzy.

He stopped kissing her and withdrew from her.

'What's wrong?' she asked, confused.

'Nothing.' He leant back against the armrest of the sofa and watched her.

* * *

He sent out conflicting signals. She didn't understand why he'd stopped kissing her, when _he_'d started kissing in the first place. Didn't he like the way she kissed? She felt disappointed, but also relieved. She didn't know why. The brown in his eyes had grown darker now, almost blackish. For a moment he looked worried; then he smiled at her.

' You're funny.' He said.

'Why?' She sounded more snappy than she'd intended, but he kept smiling. With his thumb he traced the line of her cheekbone.

'Maybe you should go.' She said, even though the feeling of his hand on her skin felt good.

He nodded. 'Yeah. Maybe I should.'

Before she knew it he'd ruffled her hair and left. She remained standing in the doorway of her now empty house for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't expect to hear from him or see him again. The strange way in which their evening had ended still annoyed her. Besides, she was far too busy at work to spend time thinking about him. She did dream about him though. An unsettling dream.

* * *

He avoided Mel. He knew that she'd want to know all about him and Lily. It bothered him that he still hadn't figured out why Mel had matched them. He kept thinking of Lily. He didn't know why. Yes, she was attractive, and clever at that, but there'd been others far more stunning. There'd been so many women. So why couldn't he get this girl out of his head?

He looked up the details of her blood disorder. Her blood didn't clot the way it was supposed to, which made her prone to heavy nosebleeds, extensive bruising and gum bleeding. Every period she had was a potential risk. People with the disease were known to have died in childbirth.

Luckily, according to the website he consulted, people could live quite normal lives these days, as long as they stuck to their medication. He watched the image of someone with an enormous nosebleed. The bright red glistening blood that poured from the nostrils made him swallow. His mouth was dry. Shit, he needed to – no, he didn't.

He turned off the computer and lit a cigarette. The nicotine calmed him down. I have to know what Mel's up to, he thought.

* * *

She hadn't heard from Mel for quite some time, when one day Mel texted her: 'What happened between you and Mitchell?' Had he told Mel anything? They were friends after all, and had once been lovers. Lily felt reluctant to answer, and besides, she didn't have much time.

She settled for a short reply: 'Nothing. Why?' She turned off her phone and went back to work. She was running out of time, and if she wanted to finish before her deadline she had to hurry.

It was Friday and she had a terrible headache. She'd run out of Paracetamol and none of her colleagues had any either. Monica offered her a bottle of aspirin.

'Thanks, but I can't take aspirin.' She explained.

'Sorry. I'd forgotten about your blood thingy.'

She didn't have the energy to go to the chemist's. The thought of walking among crowds of people made her feel sick. She sat back in her chair and waited for the headache to fade. When it finally did it was dark outside. There was still a dull ache behind her eyes, and she wasn't ready to take the tube home yet. So she stayed in her office and wished for this day and the next to pass.

It was exactly three years ago today, the day her brother Declan had been killed. A pointless life shattering crime the police had never managed to make an arrest in. Things had never been the same again. For the past few weeks she'd tried to block any thought of the coming anniversary. And she'd have succeeded, if it hadn't been for the headaches.

She opened the window to let in some fresh evening air. If only there was a way to skip the rest of this day and tomorrow, when her parents expected her to listen endlessly to their grief and recollections of their eldest child, Beckham-aspiring Declan. What was worse was that she'd loved him every bit as much as they did. He'd been her hero, in everything her example. She'd been so proud of her big brother she didn't even care when her teachers called her Declan's little sister.

Suddenly a message flashed in the middle of her computer screen. It looked like an alert from the IT-department, but it said; 'Still here? Everyone's left. I know it's D-day. Want me to come and talk to you?' It was her friend Lynn, who worked in IT support. Lily clicked on the single OK-button and the message disappeared.

It didn't take long for Lynn to arrive in her office. She was talking in her phone when she dropped a paper bag on the desktop, and sat down on the edge of the desk.

'Yeah. Sure. No, don't. Okay. Bye.' Lynn finished her conversation and looked at Lily. 'Your parents tomorrow?' she asked.

Lily nodded.

'I brought us something from the canteen. They're closed now. I've got coffee, apples and chocolate muffins.' Lynn said.

Lily, glad with the diversion, watched Lynn unwrap the muffins. She realised she hadn't eaten anything today. Her stomach rumbled.

'Someone's hungry.' Lynn said, and hugged her. 'Do you want me to go instead of you? They know I had a crush on Declan. I can tell them how wonderful he was.'

Lily drank from one of the plastic coffee cups and took a bite from her muffin. 'Nah. They think you're a bad influence.'

'They still do?' Lynn grinned. 'You'll have to face them yourself, then. We could get drunk beforehand, you know.'

She smiled. They ate and drank in silence for a while.

'So how've you been?' Lynn asked. They hadn't seen each other for some weeks. There'd been some emails and a few short phone conversations, but no real talk.

'Fine.' Lily said. It didn't feel quite right.

Lynn watched her closely. 'Okay.'

Lily welcomed the distraction, but there was no way she was going to tell Lynn about Mitchell. What was there to tell anyway?

'Lynn, I need you to help me with something.' She said and brushed the muffin crumbs from her shirt. 'Do you remember I told you my father wanted his family tree researched?'

Lynn looked puzzled. 'I just might. Why?'

'I just know he's going to ask me again tomorrow. I thought I might give it a try, to get it over with. Can you help me? There's no way I'm going to spend my time in dusty archives.'

Lynn laughed. 'As opposed to stuffy libraries you mean? Yeah, I get it. Do you want to do it here, or at your place? Mike's got some friends over tonight, so we can't go to my house.'

'Here's fine.'

Lynn sat down next to Lily and reached for the keyboard. 'Good. Where do we start? Mum or dad?'

* * *

Lily folded the printouts of the family tree, said goodbye to Lynn and headed for the tube station. It was getting late. The flow of commuters had dried up and the platforms were almost empty. In the train she sat down and closed her eyes for a bit. She felt tired, and wondered why her dad was so interested in the past; in things that had been and would never be again. No matter how much effort she put into this project, it wouldn't change a thing. Declan would still be dead.

She remembered how pale his body had been underneath the smears of blood. He'd been stabbed several times with a sharp object. Probably something the killer had fabricated himself. Whatever it was, he had taken it with him when he got out of sight. For all she knew he could now pretend to be a family man, with a wife and a couple of kids, who had successfully shaken off his dark past. Or maybe he'd just been too drunk and simply didn't remember what he'd done.

She thought of Mel. How she'd clung to her dead boyfriend's body and tried to kiss him back to life. Her face, hands and chest had been covered in blood. He'd lost so much blood. The unidentified sharp object had torn an artery. The rain had washed some of the blood away, but not all.

She remembered how confused she'd been. She'd always thought she was the one risking bleeding to death, what with her blood disorder. Not Declan. A lot of people on the family tree in her bag must've suffered from the same condition, though. It was hereditary.

The train stopped. Some people left and others entered the carriage. Through the window something caught her eye. The train pulled up suddenly and she lost sight of it. But there was no doubt. It was him. Standing in the shadow of a vending machine, a curious, intense look on his face. Mitchell. She must've said his name aloud, because a group of adolescent boys standing by the doors started sniggering.

'Oi, someone's gonna get lucky tonight!' one of them said.

* * *

He'd seen Lily, sitting in the carriage. She looked different. Vulnerable and inexplicably sad. He fought the impulse to hop on the train and go to her. Not a good idea. So he kept standing there, watching, until the train disappeared into the tunnel.

He'd forgotten why he was there in the first place. He decided against buying a Cadbury Fruit & Nut bar and left the underground station. It wasn't until he was outside, in the drizzling rain, when he remembered. Never mind. It was too late now anyway. He decided to walk home, but first lit a cigarette, sheltering the flame of his lighter with cupped hands.

When he put away his lighter he saw her. Peroxide bleached fluffy hair, eyes heavily made up, far too much lipstick. A miniskirt she was clearly too old for, worn fishnet stockings, uncomfortable high heels, a flimsy blouse and a thin jacket that was hardly adequate against the cold.

'No thanks.' He said. End thirties, he guessed.

'No, silly. I just need a light. And a smoke. No point borrowing your lighter otherwise. I'm out of fags.'

He held out his packet, and she took two.

'Ta.' She came closer and held the end of her cigarette in the flame of his lighter. 'Antique, is it?'

He nodded. She smelled of cheap perfume and stale sweat.

He noticed a vein in her neck pulsate as she took a drag from her cigarette. He heard it too. The maddening sound of blood whirling through her body. He felt the rush in his head. He loved how much it stung. She saw him look at her.

'Changed your mind then?' She tried to make it sound seductive – which it wasn't.

He could see she wasn't a happy person.

'I don't do any of the weird stuff, just so you know.' She tugged at his sleeve. He'd no intention of having sex with her, but she didn't know that. Did she have a family to go home to, a home? Probably just a dingy bedsit in a depressing neighbourhood. 'Come on then.' she said.

He followed her, away from the streetlights, still undecided. This wasn't the plan. But maybe it could be a satisfying alternative. She pulled him into a gloomy alley, and pushed him against a damp wall.

'I don't think –' he started.

'No need for thinking now, love.' She said and held up her hand.

He understood and searched the pockets of his jeans for money. He paid her, watching carefully where she hid the banknotes.

She smiled. Moved her hand in the direction of his crotch. He grabbed her wrist and moved away from the wall, pushing her instead of himself with her back against the wall.

'So you like to be in control?' she said.

He watched her, like a leopard observing his prey. Suddenly his phone started to vibrate. He ignored it.

He moved closer, pinning her to the wall with his hip. She was too busy fumbling with his belt to notice. Their eyes met.

'My god, you want this, don't you, handsome?' she said. And he did. But what he wanted so much that it hurt just wasn't the thing _she_ had in mind.

No one will miss her, he told himself. I'm doing her a favour.

'Come on, don't be shy.' She whispered. That was his cue. With a terrible force his hands grabbed her shoulders before he sank his fangs into the white skin of her throat.

He'd just crammed the money into his pocket when he heard footsteps. Someone came into the alley.

'Change of plan, John?' Herrick. 'I think you're getting a bit careless, John. Sloppy.' Herrick walked towards him and came so close Mitchell could smell his breath. Bad breath. Herrick sniffed and watched the prostitute, collapsed against the wall like an inflatable doll deprived of air.

'Right. Are you finished here?' Herrick sounded cheerful. Mitchell was quiet. All the excuses he'd used to justify his actions were void. Fake. He hated it that Herrick was here and he hated it even more that the man kept smiling . He shrugged.

In the distance he could hear sirens. An ambulance, not the police. Good.

'Here you go.' Herrick handed him a packet of tissues. He watched how Mitchell cleaned his face and the front of his jacket. 'You missed a bit. On the right, next to your eye.' The sirens grew louder and Mitchell heard a car brake. 'Ah, here's our ride.' Herrick said. 'Are you coming?'

He didn't. Instead he watched how Herrick and two others carried the woman into the ambulance. Not that it would be much use to her now. Besides, chances were she would never reach hospital. Herrick waved and they drove off.

He should have felt stronger. Elated. But he didn't. Hands deep in his pockets, the collar of his jacket up against the rain, he started walking. His fingers trembled when he lit another cigarette. It tasted foul. I don't even know her name, he thought.

A minute later his phone rang. This time he answered it.

'Ellis. That's her name. Was her name, to be precise. I just thought you should know.' The sound of Herrick's laughter kept ringing in his ears long after he'd ended the call.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday wasn't as bad as she'd expected. Her aunt Nora was staying with her parents and managed to lift some of the gloom. She was every bit as excited as Lily's father about the family tree.

'My friend Lynn helped me. It's not finished yet, but I thought you should see it.'

Her mum stared at the bottom of the paper where Declan's name was printed.

'Thanks, love.' Her dad said. Words she hadn't heard from him in a long time.

Before she'd decided how to react Nora suggested they go for a walk. 'Just you and me dear.'

They left her parents examining the piece of paper as if it was a rare treasure.

'You look tired. Are you sleeping well? Eating?' Nora asked.

'I'm fine.'

It was misty, but dry, and now and again the sun came out. They crossed the woodlands on the edge of the village and sat down in the shadow of the ruins of what had once been a Norman castle.

'Make sure they bury me here when I die, will you? Cemeteries give me the creeps.' Nora said. Lily couldn't help but laugh.

'But I'm not dying yet. And neither are you. And since your parents have been dead nor alive for these past three years, I think it's your duty to live your life as best as you can. For the three of you. Four.'

'Please don't say it's what Declan would have wanted.' Lily begged.

'I won't. I don't suppose being dead is what he would've wanted, so it would be presumptuous to suggest that he'd wanted you to live his life. How are you, Lily?'

'Fine. Waiting for them to move on.'

'Don't. Maybe it's time you let go and live your own life.'

Lily laughed. 'And since when have you become so spiritual? Did you watch Titanic again, or have you met someone?'

'Have you?' Nora said.

* * *

He'd decided to give in to the urge to see her. But she wasn't at home, and he didn't have her phone number. Mel did.

'I'll give it to you. On one condition. You tell me all about it afterwards. Whatever happens.'

He gave in.

'Good boy. Have you got a pen?'

* * *

'Ha, that's your conscience.' Nora said when Lily's phone suddenly started ringing. 'No, don't ignore it. Answer.'

'You do know you're scary sometimes, don't you, Nora?'

Nora smiled.

'Lily? It's Mitchell – John Mitchell?'

She almost dropped her phone.

'Hi.' So Mitchell wasn't his first name?

'Hi, listen, about the other night – do you think we could start over again? I mean, I completely understand if you don't want to. I just thought…' He coughed.

Don't hang up, she thought.

She walked away from the ruin, to an open space from where she had a Birdseye view of the village and its surroundings. The last of the mist had dissolved.

'Okay.' She said. She could hear him breath.

'Maybe we could go to the cinema? You choose which film.'

She pressed the phone closer to her ear, so close it hurt.

'Thursday night would be fine.' She said.

'It would? Great. How are you, Lily? It's just I noticed that yesterday was the day Declan died.' He knew? He spoke of Declan as if he'd known him personally, instead of as some complete stranger.

'I'm fine now. Thanks.'

He likes me, she thought as she walked back to her parents' house. And he'd been nervous. He's at least twenty-five and he's as nervous as a fifteen year old teenager going on a first date.

'So you _have_ met someone.' Nora said casually.

* * *

It was a test, but she was confident enough to try him.

'Dracula? You want to see a Dracula film?' He stared at her in amazement. She looked radiant, not at all the sad person he'd spotted on the train. And she'd just asked him to go see a Dracula film with her.

'I'm serious. You should see this place. It's an old school that's been converted into an art house cinema. They've done it up like a twenties theatre. It's really pretty. But if you don't fancy Dracula we could always see the other film on their program. That would be Love Story.'

'No, Dracula's fine. I hate Love Story.'

Dracula it was. The thirties version. And he discovered he enjoyed it. Enjoyed her company. The way she whispered absurd facts in his ear, her hair brushing his face. How she hid her face against his shoulder when things on screen got scary. And he liked it that she ate at least half of the M&M's from the family size bag they'd brought. That she asked him what colour he preferred, meticulously separating the greens from the other colours, and popping them unceremoniously into his mouth when he least expected it.

'You're choking me!' he protested.

'Shhhh!' someone in the row of chairs behind them warned. He looked at Lily and the only way to stop her laughter from disturbing the other visitors was to kiss her long and hard. The bag of M&M's dropped to the floor and burst.

'God, that Dracula fellow is ugly.' She whispered in between kisses. 'You'd think they could have made some prettier vampires.'

'Like me?' he grinned.

'You'd be perfect.' She decided.

* * *

She felt ecstatic. Full of energy. His arm was around her shoulders and he was walking really close to her.

'Will you stay?' she asked when they were close to her house. He kissed her hair.

'Of course. But only if you tell me what this Dracula obsession of yours is? Now that we've established you don't fall for his looks?'

'Well, that's easy. It's the blood.' She said as she opened the front door.

She never had sex on a first date. It was a matter of principle. But technically this wasn't a first date, but the second, even if he had left prematurely the first time. She still didn't know much about him, but he made her laugh and feel good, and she just didn't want that to end. Even aunt Nora would disapprove if she stopped now.

Things felt a little uneasy once they were in her apartment. In the absence of a better idea she opened a cupboard to get out the coffee.

'Don't.' he said. Swept her up in his arms with a strength that scared her a little. In two steps they were in her cramped bedroom.

'Jesus, this place is small.' He said, breathless, and slid his arms under her T-shirt. Surprisingly cool hands, that soon made her feel scorching hot.

'Are you absolutely sure about this?' he asked.

'Of course I am. I'm not a virgin, Mitchell.' Even saying his name excited her.

* * *

A virgin? He didn't think she was. The only things he worried about, and couldn't possibly talk about, were his self-control and her blood disorder. But he wasn't supposed to know about that, was he? If he asked her she'd know he'd been snooping in her things, her life. He didn't think she'd be amused.

He found it hard to concentrate, even though he knew it was vital that he did. He could _not_ let go.

'Whooh, let's slow down a bit, shall we?' He suggested. His voice was raspy.

'Only if you promise to stay for a long time.' She teased him.

He promised.

* * *

He stayed the night. By the time it was light outside he slept. Lily watched him. She felt knackered but there was no way she could sleep now. She texted Monica that she wouldn't come to the office today.

'Late night?' Monica texted back.

'Sort of.'

She made tea and toast, which she ate sitting in front of her computer. Mitchell was fast asleep. He looked exhausted. For a minute she watched his muscular, hairy chest. Then she pulled the duvet up to his chin to keep him warm. He didn't wake up, so she returned to her computer.

Now was as good a time as any to continue her research for the family tree. Lynn had taught her where to look for information. Until now she'd concentrated on her father's family line. This time she started with her mother and grandmother – the one she was named after.

Two hours had passed and she hadn't even been aware of it. The sudden feel of his hands on her shoulders and his mouth near her ear startled her.

'It's me.' He said. Found a chair and sat down next to her. 'What's this?'

'A family tree. It's for my parents.'

He took a bite from a cold piece of toast from her plate and said, mouth full: 'So this is your family tree, then?' he pointed at the name of her grandmother. 'That's funny. My gran's called Lily as well.'

'Hungry?' she asked. He nodded. 'I'll bake some eggs. Do you like eggs?'

'Love'em.' He pulled her away from the screen, into his arms. 'Don't you have to go to work?'

'You?' she asked in return.

'Not today. I'm in between jobs at the moment, which is good, cause I'm kinda busy right now.' Their teeth clashed as he kissed her.

* * *

He'd eaten three eggs, beans, tomatoes and toast, and he'd drunk two large mugs of milky Earl Grey tea.

'You still look hungry.'

Yeah, for you, he thought. He gave her a wide smile.

'Is she still alive?' Lily asked. His eyes narrowed. Then he understood.

'Oh. No, she's been dead for quite some time now.'

'Do you still miss her?'

'Sometimes.' A partial lie.

Yes, he missed the house where he spent his youth with his parents and grandparents. As an only child he'd been spoiled rotten. He missed being part of that human family. What he didn't miss was their disappointment and shame, after they found out he'd allegedly deserted the army after abandoning his men. He'd been branded a coward. They'd never spoken about him again, and destroyed most of their palpable memories of him. His letters and most of the pictures that had been taken of him.

* * *

Early Saturday morning he left.

'I'll see you.' He said. He was very pale.

'Are you alright?' she asked, worried.

'There's just something I've got to do.'

She wanted to ask him when she'd see him again, but decided against it. She touched his cheek. Felt the stubbles of his three day beard.

'Bye.'

He nodded, suddenly distant.


	4. Chapter 4

When he'd reached the end of the street he looked back over his shoulder. The door was closed – she was no longer there. This is madness, he thought. Reached for his phone and texted Herrick. 'On my way.'

He stopped at his own place first. A single room that fitted the description of the bedsit he'd depicted the prostitute living in. Ellis. He took a shower and put on some clean clothes. Jeans and a dark blue shirt. A pair of sunglasses. The room was stuffy. He opened the window, but kept the blinds closed.

* * *

Her flat felt empty. She drank the coffee he hadn't finished in his hurry to leave, thinking how his lips had touched the very same mug. Something was wrong. She felt it, and knew instinctively that it was more serious that the fact that she'd changed into a lovesick shadow of herself.

She felt sore. For someone who abhorred physical exercise she'd been pretty busy these past days. She took a hot shower and brushed her teeth. When she looked in the mirror she discovered an enormous bruise on the side of her throat.

Great. Her heart sank. It was almost black. She checked the rest of her body. There was some minor bruising on her arms and legs, but nothing as bad as the dark ugly bruise next to her collarbone. From experience she knew that it would take ages to fade.

She had to give a lecture on Monday. She looked out of the window at the now empty street. He hadn't been that rough. She'd felt that somehow he'd wanted to, but instead he'd restrained himself. It was almost as if he knew. But he couldn't know, could he?

* * *

'Ah, John. Glad you could find the time to delight us with your presence. Do take a seat.' The look in Herrick's eyes was cold as ice. Mitchell remained standing.

Their location was an old tube station that had been closed for over twenty years now. They had gathered in the former control room. Seth sat at one of the desks and kept an eye on the row of screens that were connected to the station's security cameras. The tunnels were empty, the platforms filthy and full of debris. London Underground didn't use the station anymore, but sometimes inspections took place after rumours of vagrants taking shelter in the tunnels.

He lit a cigarette, standing under a yellow 'no smoking' sign. They were all there. Herrick's minions.

'So good of you all to drop by. Now listen carefully. I've got an important announcement to make.' Herrick said. He looked pleased with himself.

* * *

She called Lynn. They arranged to meet for lunch in a restaurant near Lynn's house. Lily was glad to be out of the house for a while. Lynn noticed the scarf almost instantly.

'Fell down the stairs, did you?' she joked.

'It just doesn't feel right.' Lily said, and put down her fork.

'Does he make you feel good?'

She nodded.

'So? It's not as if he's married or something, is it? Maybe you just need some time to adjust. After all, you haven't been with someone for a long time, have you?'

Lily sighed. Lynn drank from her glass of red wine and continued: 'Just relax and have fun. Take one step at a time, if you have to.' She tried to look serious, but failed.

'So what if I stumble and fall taking all those steps?'

'Then you'll be a fallen woman with a mighty bruise.'

* * *

Mitchell didn't believe it. But Herrick had decided and whatever Herrick suggested he'd eventually do for the man. As if there was no such thing as free will.

'Why? What about the rest of us?' Gina asked. She had spiky hair and was dressed like a seventies punk. Herrick had just announced that it was time to regroup. He and eight carefully selected family members would return to Bristol and set up business there.

'Things have gone out of hand up there. They need a firm hand. A leader.' He said.

He knew they expected him to feel grateful, honoured. But he wasn't. He was sick of being Herrick's puppet, sick of being manipulated. And besides, Lily didn't live in Bristol.

'What about the rest of us?' Gina asked for a second time.

Herrick looked at her angrily. 'The rest of you stay here. I've invited an old friend who'll make sure none of your talents get wasted.'

Bristol was where he'd first followed Herrick. After the darkness of the war it had seemed like paradise. But things had gotten too hot for them there. The same things that made them relocate time and again. London had been a turning point. A city so large anonymity was guaranteed. He'd enjoyed the decades he'd spent there. London never got boring.

'Are you thinking of retiring, Herrick?' someone asked.

'Nothing of the sort.' Herrick smiled but his eyes remained cold.

Herrick followed Mitchell when the meeting was over. 'You're gonna buy me a drink.' He said. Mitchell knew it wasn't just a suggestion.

* * *

No one noticed them when they chose a table at the back of the pub. People who spotted them might think they were just two friends out for a drink. Father and son, or maybe lovers. No one cared. The music was loud enough for their conversation not to be overheard.

'Tell me.' Herrick said. 'You've been dying to tell me all evening.' Mitchell shrugged.

'I'm not going.' He said stubbornly.

'Good. Let's drink to that.' Herrick beckoned a waitress and ordered two vodka's. 'To you.' Herrick raised his glass.

Mitchell eyed him suspiciously.

'May all your dreams come true.' Herrick smiled. A devious little smile that didn't convince Mitchell.

'Oh, cut the crap, Mitchell.' Herrick said, suddenly violent. 'You and I both know that deep down inside you want to go to Bristol.'

'Why don't you take Gina? She'd love to come.' Mitchell sounded very bitter.

'Gina's a brainless bitch. All she wants is power. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course.'

Mitchell didn't move, his body tense and anger all over his face.

'You won't last, you know. You'll come crawling back to me. Begging. Not a pretty sight.' Herrick said.

Mitchell got to his feet abruptly, and almost kicked his chair to the floor. Two girls in an adjoining booth looked up, curious.

'Don't draw attention to us.' Herrick hissed.

Mitchell zipped up his jacket and left. 'Begging.' Herrick's voice echoed in his head.


	5. Chapter 5

'You could show some initiative yourself, you know.' Lynn said. She'd caught Lily staring at the screen of her phone. 'It's pathetic alright, but not nearly as pathetic as staying glued to that thing waiting for him to phone you.'

'Or text.' Lily said, her eyes still fixed on the screen. She was sitting on a bench in the park opposite her office. It was their lunch break, but she wasn't hungry.

'Did you take his picture?' Lynn asked. 'Not that he's worth it, of course, ignoring you for – what, two weeks?'

'Sixteen days. No pics. Just a name and a stupid bruise.' She dropped her phone into her handbag.

'Good girl. I brought you a coffee. Drink up and forget the bastard.' Lynn said.

* * *

He knew he couldn't postpone it any longer. So he visited Mel. She didn't seem pleased to see him, but let him in reluctantly. She didn't offer him a seat and kept standing close to the door. As if he might outstay his welcome any minute.

He walked towards the mantelpiece and picked up one of the photos she'd displayed there.

'No picture of the happy couple?' he asked. His eyes darkened. The picture he was holding was one of Declan. He must have seen it at least a dozen times.

'You've disappointed me.' Mel said.

He shrugged. 'What did you have in mind?'

'Give that back.' She ordered.

'Why? By the way, do you still miss him?' he asked. He didn't even try to sound friendly. He watched the picture closely, but couldn't detect anything special about it. 'Care to tell me what happened to him?'

'You know perfectly well what happened to him. And yes, I did care about him. It's not my fault he wasn't interested.'

'In you or in being recruited by you?'

She snatched the picture from his hands and put it facedown onto the table.

'Why didn't you do it?' she asked.

'Do what?' He knew exactly what she meant, but was in no mood to acknowledge it.

'He didn't think I was good enough for him. Not your regular glamour wife. I thought he was nice. Interested in me.' She sounded very bitter.

'Everyone else thinks he was nice.' He replied.

'Everyone?' Her eyes narrowed.

'His parents, Lily. His teachers, soccer trainer, the lot.'

'Well yes, he was good at that. Bastard.'

She walked to the window. He sat down on her sofa. She didn't look at him, but instead stared out of the window.

'What about Lily?' he asked. 'Do you think she should pay for the things her brother did to you? Or do you hate her too? Don't say you just wanted to give me a present.'

Mel clenched her fists. 'You wouldn't understand.'

'Try me.' There was nothing nice about him now.

She turned and looked at him. Hatred mixed with sadness.

'What?'

'Don't you see? Mitchell, it's you. He had your eyes. _She_ has your eyes. You just don't get it, do you?'

* * *

She was glad she didn't have a photo. It made things easier. She was determined to forget about him, full stop. Maybe she hadn't interpreted the signs properly, thinking it was more than a one off thing. One night stand. So what if he didn't really like her? Her life had been alright before she met him, and it could be the same again. No matter the sex had been good – there would be others. Compared to an entire lifetime forty-odd hours were peanuts. She didn't hesitate and deleted his phone number from her phone memory. If only she could feel relief.

* * *

He didn't understand Mel, found it hard to find the right words. So all he said was: 'Herrick's expecting us by nine. Are you coming?' She wasn't, so he left on his own.

Herrick didn't speak about Bristol. Mitchell didn't think the plans had changed, but he was grateful nevertheless. He found it hard to concentrate, but managed to hide it from the others by nodding and smiling at what he expected to be the right times. Your eyes – what did Mel mean by that? Maybe it was just her imagination working overtime.

'You're awfully quiet tonight, Mitchell.' Herrick whispered. He had that annoying habit of creeping up on people.

'Not much to say, is there?'

'Now you're wrong there, John. You know how much some of our new recruits could learn from you.'

'Well, they'll have to be patient then. I'm not in the mood. Sorry.' Mitchell said and left early.

* * *

He found the photo in the back of a drawer. Black and white turned yellow through the ages. He remembered posing for it. He had to sit very still for quite a long time. Smiling wasn't allowed. Which was hard, cause he was smiling a lot at the time, still thinking the army and the war would be his escape from his dreary life.

He watched his own image. Superficially serious, his hair cropped short, like a statue in a stiff uniform. The photographer had taken a couple of pics, and had given him two. One for his parents and one for his girlfriend. But he didn't have a girlfriend, so instead he'd given that one to Lily, his cousin.

Herrick had recovered the one he was now holding. Reflected in his eyes he could see his own impatience, his eagerness to fight and become a hero, and his belief that things would be good, nothing but good, from now on. He could see the innocence, stubbornness and longing to get out of Ireland and discover the world. He hadn't seen the trenches then. The cold and the rats, the deaths and despair, the fear and endlessness of that living hell on the battlefield. There had been nothing adventurous or heroic about that.

* * *

She was glad her neighbour was on holiday. She spent her time feeding his cat, watering the plants and watching dozens of the hundreds of DVD's her neighbour Michael had collected. The rest of the time she worked or slept.

She had a few nightmares, for the first time in two years. Right after Declan died they were frequent, but a year ago they'd ended. Until now. She dreamt she was bleeding to death, and there were people watching her. No one called an ambulance or tried to stop the bleeding.

One night she woke up and discovered she'd had a nosebleed. Her sheets and pillows were soaked with her blood. She got a fright when she looked in the mirror and saw her face. Blood had streamed over her mouth and chin, and had stained her pyjamas.

She tried to forget about Mitchell. After all he had disappeared into thin air and seemed to have no trouble forgetting her. But it was difficult, especially when she was watching Michael's vintage films. She enjoyed The Day Of The Triffids, but couldn't help thinking that it would have been more fun watching it with Mitchell. Her double bed felt empty.

She Googled his name and wasn't all that surprised that there were nearly three million hits, and none of them with his image. She regretted deleting his phone number, as he wasn't in the phone directory and she didn't want to ask Mel again. She looked our for him on the tube home, but she never saw him.

* * *

He wanted to see her again, he really did. But it wasn't safe. Mel's anger worried him. So he didn't call her, didn't text or visit her. instead he tried to find out all he could about Declan. According to Mel he hadn't been the nice, popular boy everyone thought he was. To be honest he did sound too good to be true.

What he did find was shocking. Declan had been bad news from an early age. There were incidents with missing and maimed pets. Bullying. Date rape. No criminal record, no proof, but convincing nevertheless. There was no way he could ever tell Lily about this.


	6. Chapter 6

He was hungry. His entire body screamed for blood. It had been quite some time since he'd fed, he realised. Not since that prostitute. Ellis. He knew he should be pleased, but he wasn't. The reason he'd managed to oppress his hunger for a couple of weeks had nothing to do with willpower, and everything with the fact that he was distracted. He had too keep as much distance as possible between Lily and his world. But most of all he had to keep her away from him.

Through an employment agency he found a temporary job as an assistant in a blood donor centre. He'd used a false ID and fake references. He was host to the donors and had to collect the blood bags for further transport. Somehow he managed to stay calm.

The first day he concealed one bag of blood, just after it had been collected. He locked himself into one of the toilets and drank. The second and the third day he stole two bags.

The fourth day one of the donors had an epileptic fit, and managed to disconnect the needle from his arm. Blood sprayed over the machinery, the floor and Mitchell, who had been standing next to him. For the first time ever Mitchell fainted at the sight and smell of blood.

The fifth day the donor care supervisor found out that according to his paperwork they were a few pints short of blood. No one could come up with an explanation. At the end of the day Mitchell, sick from withdrawal symptoms, handed in his notice. The supervisor was very understanding. 'Not everyone can handle the blood.' She said. That night Mitchell visited Mel.

The next day he was ill. He couldn't stop vomiting. When he fell asleep at last he dreamt about Lily. Present day Lily and cousin Lily. His cousin had died in 1958. She'd been one year his senior, an only child like him. She was the sibling he'd never had. They spent most of their childhood together. His mother and her father were twins.

In his dream they were playing in the woods, and she had grazed her knee. She didn't cry because she was tough. He kissed her better anyway. After that kiss things had been awkward between them for a while. Until one day, when he was bullied by a couple of boys from his class, she intervened and kissed him, in view of half the school population.

He was thirteen, she was fourteen and there was nothing sister like about that kiss. In his dream she kissed him again. He could smell her, lemon and cinnamon. And then her face was Lily's. Twenty-first century Lily. And now he could smell chocolate as well. He stared into her eyes while she morphed into cousin Lily and back.

She kissed him for a long time, in the middle of the schoolyard, his bullies in awe of the fact that a girl kissed him. Kissed him properly. One of the little shits looked a bit like Herrick. The pig's eyes, straw hair and devious little smile.

* * *

He woke up and was covered in cold sweat. It must have been the blood. He knew processed blood wasn't right, but he'd hoped the anticoagulant fluids in the blood bags wouldn't start working at once. They probably had, even though the taste of the blood had been alright, fresh from the donors.

He realised he'd taken a stupid risk, and it had done him no good. The taste of the blood had fuelled his addiction. But instead of providing the longed for glorious emptiness, the usual surge of energy and constant high, this blood had poisoned him and now his heart was racing itself towards a heart attack.

He was sick as a dog and had a gruesome headache. His eyes were burning and his legs shook uncontrollably. He clutched his duvet and pulled it around him, curling up to brace himself against the living nightmares.

They all visited him. The girls from the bus stop, the porter from the hotel, the lonely gay boy who fancied him and thought he'd met a kindred spirit. The call girls, housewives, runaways and party girls. The boys who'd bullied him in school. He'd lost count but he'd never forgotten the names of the people he'd killed. This blood wasn't the right stuff at all. It wasn't supposed to trigger his memories.

He thought of Josie. She'd helped him face his victims. But she had left him when the strain became too much. She wanted to be in a normal - human -relationship. She no longer wanted to explain their age difference. Didn't want to fabricate lies and excuses. And maybe she couldn't face the things he'd done after all. He missed her. 'Talk to them. Explain. Apologise.' She'd say. He bit his lip and sucked in some of his own blood. After that he had to throw up again.

* * *

He lived in a depressing neighbourhood. Boarded up empty shops, graffiti on bins , walls and bus shelters. Broken glass and litter everywhere. It was a bedsit, and the doorbell didn't work. The door was slightly ajar. The light in the stairwell was broken, and she could smell damp, stale air and a faint whiff of curry.

She knocked on doors randomly. A woman with the appearance of a bag lady opened the third door.

'I'm looking for John Mitchell.' Lily explained.

'Third floor, door on the left.' The woman said and smiled. Lily could see there were some teeth missing.

'Thanks.'

He didn't answer the door. She was just about to leave when a bald man with an earring opened the adjacent door.

'Sure that's where you have to be? Mind you, he's in alright. Must be the flu or a bad hangover. He kept me awake all night. These walls, you see. Thin as cardboard.'

Lily hesitated.

'It's not locked, you know. I'd say he could use a friend.' The man blew her a kiss and closed his door.

She didn't want to invade his privacy. But the man had said he'd been ill. Maybe he still was. He clearly wasn't able to answer the door. So she went in. The room was dark and the blinds were closed. She almost walked into a table.

'Mitchell?' she asked. She fumbled for a light switch and found one near the door.

All she could see was a terrible mess. Clothes strewn over a chair and on the floor, dirty cups and pizza cartons on every surface. She found Mitchell curled up in an unmade, smelly bed. She sat down and touched his shoulder. He flinched.

'Mitchell, are you alright?'

The sudden force with which he turned and grabbed her arm frightened her, just as his eyes did. For a few seconds they were pitch black. He swallowed and relaxed the hold on her arm. His eyes became normal again.

'I'll phone a doctor.' She decided.

His hand closed around her wrist.

'Don't. No doctor. I'm fine.' He said and tried to sit up.

The air of the room was filled with the aroma of sweat, and the acrid smell of dried up vomit almost made her gag. There was something else as well. The metallic taste of blood. Like when she had one of her nosebleeds. She didn't see much blood though. There was some dried up blood on his lip. He must have bitten it.

'Please go.' He said, his voice hoarse.

'You'll have to let me go first.' She said. And when he didn't seem to understand: 'My wrist?'

'Oh. Sorry.'

He let go. Lily rubbed her wrist and got up. Opened the window to let in some fresh air.

* * *

She didn't leave. He must have fallen asleep, cause when he opened his eyes again she was sitting at his table, reading a paperback.

'I told you to leave.' He said.

She looked up. 'Yes. Well, I didn't. I still think you should see a doctor, though.'

'No doctor.' He pleaded.

She shrugged.

* * *

She was surprised at his lack of possessions. Hardly any books, a few vinyl records, no pictures on the walls. The only thing he had in abundance seemed to be sunglasses. She counted at least six pairs.

Now and again he slept. It wasn't a quiet sleep. He turned and twisted and sometimes he shouted things. When at last he woke up properly she could see he was worn out. He was thinner than she remembered. How long had he been ill?

He crawled from under his sweat soaked duvet and tried to sit up straight, slumped against the wall. There were dark bags under his eyes and his hair was greasy. She handed him a cup of tea, made with an ancient electric kettle. He sniffed it before drinking from it.

'It's lemon tea.' She offered him a packet of biscuits as well. 'Cinnamon biscuits. And I've got some chocolate – that is, if your stomach has settled.'

The chocolate was the emergency bar she always kept in her handbag. In case of lack of energy, bad news or premenstrual cravings. It was nutritious as well, and she had read somewhere that cocoa beans contained an ingredient that was good for the heart.

'Chocolate?' he asked, and raised his eyebrows.

'If you want some. It's okay if you're not up to it.' She broke two pieces from the bar and ate them.

He smiled. She offered him the rest. He shook his head. She put the chocolate back into her bag. Sighed.

'Feeling better now?' he said.

She sat down next to him. 'Look.' She said. 'You were having some kind of seizure. Is that something you've had before? And is that why you don't need a doctor?'

He hesitated. Nodded.

'So you're epileptic?' 'Sort of. I'm fine, really.'

* * *

He was lying in her bed, in her tiny bedroom, a couple of pillows propped up behind him. She'd phoned a cab and had stashed some of his clothes in a bag. He'd been to weak to protest, though he'd refused to sit in the back of the cab. 'Carsickness?' the cabbie had asked. 'As long as I don't sit in the back.' In view of the driving mirror.

When he woke up it was dark. It took a while before he knew where he was. At Lily's place. He got up and was surprised how steady his legs had become in these past few hours. He was thirsty and he had to pee.

She was lying on her sofa, fast asleep under a blanket. In her sleep she was smiling. He sat down in a chair opposite her and watched her. So innocent. So damned sexy.

'I'm no good for you.' He said. Why on earth had she come to him after he'd ignored her for weeks? And now she'd seen him at his worst, no, his second worst , and she didn't suspect a thing. Seizures – he should have thought of that excuse before.

He sat there for a long time. He knew he had to get the hell out of her life, but he didn't want to. He was kind of relieved his phone hadn't been in his pocket when Lily helped him put on his coat. No messages from Herrick. He watched the sun rise behind the thin curtains.

* * *

She was awake. Eyes still closed she said 'I think you should take a shower.' She smiled, still drowsy. He was still wearing the same pair of track pants and grubby T-shirt he'd been wearing for the past three days. He must smell like a tramp.

He used her shampoo, even though it made him smell like a girl. He was feeling better now. His body must have got rid of the chemicals in the donor blood. That had been a stupid thing to do. What if it had been a rare blood type and someone had died because the right blood wasn't available?

'You'll keep on hurting people, Mitchell.' He remembered Josie saying. 'Even if you don't intend to. All your actions have implications.' It was what had caused their break-up. He hadn't understood at first. 'You've known about the things I've done since day one, Josie. What's changed?'

He could still see her eyes. Quiet, understanding. She didn't want it to end, but she felt she had to. 'It's not what you've done. It's what you'll do. I know you try, Mitchell, but it's always there.' He'd made love to her after that conversation, hoping to persuade her to stay. But it had the opposite effect. 'Can't you see? It's there now. In your eyes. I'll always love you, Mitchell, but I can't live with you. Do you understand?' And he had, very much so.

He wondered where she was now, how she was doing. Was she happy? Did she have children? She would be in her fifties now. She was so young, back then. Maybe two years older than Lily. Something was wrong with the boiler, cause suddenly the water from the showerhead was scalding hot. He turned off the water and wiped his eyes, hoping it was just the shampoo that made his eyes water.

* * *

She had made breakfast while he was having his shower. Toast and eggs. His hair was still damp when he came in, wearing nothing but a towel. He didn't look vulnerable anymore. 'I'll get dressed first.' He said, nodding at the food. She swallowed. He must have seen it, cause he came closer. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath, and smell her own shampoo.

He pulled her close. She could feel he was excited. Very. He was warmer now than she remembered. It must've been the effect of the hot shower.

'Lily, I'm no good for you.' He said, and kissed her.

'I'll be the judge of that.' She replied, and took off her pyjama top.


	7. Chapter 7

'Sorry I had to bother you, Lynn. But the tape's stuck. I'm afraid I'll tear it if I pull it out.' Lily showed Lynn the mess she'd made of the tape recorder.

'You could get them digitalized, you know.' Lynn said disapprovingly, watching the old fashioned device.

'Maybe.' Lily said. She didn't know why, but somehow she was fond of the old thing. She loved watching the spools revolving while listening to her poets.

'I don't think you will. Look, I'll call David. He's perfect for this job. And you look like you need a spot of lunch.'

They found an empty table in the canteen. Lily had a coffee.

Lynn had bought sandwiches and a small salad. 'You should eat.'

'I had a large breakfast.' Lily lied. The eggs and toast had grown cold. Mitchell had changed her mind about breakfast.

'I knew it.' Lynn said. 'He's back, isn't he? You don't hear from him for weeks and suddenly he's back, and instead of speaking your mind your knees go liquid and you fall for him again.' She sounded bitter.

'It's not like that. He's been ill.' Lily protested.

'That's what he said? You shouldn't believe anything a man says just because he's got nice eyes and a yummy body. Well, it's bound to be a yummy body, cause you've got 'shag' written all over you.'

Two students with trays who were just passing had overheard Lynn and giggled.

'They say good sex is healthy.' Lily said and drank from her coffee.

'Yeah, if you don't get Chlamydia or aids. And if he doesn't dump you afterwards and calls you a slut in front of all his friends.' Lynn said angrily.

'Is everything alright between you and Mike?' Lily asked.

'Mike's a wanker. But as long as he's my bloody wanker I'll manage, thank you. But my period's late and I can't help thinking – never mind.' Lynn pushed her food away and said: 'Tell me all about him, so I can decide if he's good for you.'

* * *

He emptied the plates and placed them in the sink. He threw his stinking clothes into Lily's laundry basket, on top of her underwear. He watched TV for a bit, but there was nothing on that interested him. He paced up and down the living room, restless. Now that he was no longer ill he needed action. Preferable by spending more time with Lily, but she was at work and would be gone for a long time.

By now Herrick would wonder what had happened to him. It might be wise to go and reassure him. Even though he was bound to start talking about Bristol again. He found a spare key in a drawer, put on his boots and coat, and went out to see the man he 'd be connected to for the rest of time, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

'You disappoint me, Mitchell. Robbing innocent people from their donor blood? I guess that might have been an interesting experience. Stomach turning, to be precise. You're such a fool sometimes. Why do you always make things so hard? Mel told me about that girl. Practically a hermit, she tells me, ready for the taking, and you turn that down? Mel's really not amused, and I can't say I blame her. I suppose she'll feed on the bitch herself one of these days, but still. No way tot turn down a gift. Not the polite thing to do. What the hell's wrong with you?'

Herrick kept ranting, but Mitchell hardly listened. The only words that had registered were 'she'll feed on the bitch herself' – would she? No, he didn't think so. If she'd really wanted to, Mel would have done so a long time ago. But the idea made him feel uncomfortable. Suddenly he was scared Herrick might notice that he'd gone soft for Lily.

'To easy, no fun in that.' He said, careful to look Herrick in the eye.

'She must've been extremely dull for you to take on the donor blood instead. What were you thinking?' Herrick smiled, but his eyes were cold.

'Just an experiment.' He said, calmer than he felt. 'I had no idea these chemicals work so fast.'

* * *

The pleasant buzz of happiness she'd felt all day disappeared the minute she discovered her flat was empty. He'd left no note. In fact there was nothing there that was proof of his presence. So he'd left. She dropped her coat onto the sofa and put on the kettle. Then she changed her mind and looked for the bottle of vodka she kept in one of the kitchen cupboards.

By the time the water was boiling she'd forgotten all about her plans for making tea. Sod you, Mitchell, she thought. It wasn't until she went to the loo that she noticed his dirty clothes in her laundry basket. Maybe he'd just discarded them, and was happy to do without them. She had to restrain herself from picking up his T-shirt and sniffing it. You're disgusting, she told herself. As were his clothes.

She took a shower and put on her flannel pyjamas, even though it was only half past eight. She sat on the sofa and watched telly, the vodka bottle close at hand. By the time the door opened and Mitchell came in she was drunk.

* * *

He put down the pizzas and the beers he'd bought. 'Lily?'

She was there alright, slouched on the sofa watching some talent show. A girl wearing too much make-up was singing 'Heaven' by Bryan Adams. Lily was humming along, unaware of his arrival. Was she drunk? Yeah, she definitely was. He opened one of the beers and drank, still standing.

'You watching this?' he asked.

She looked up, surprised.

'Mitchell.' She said. He turned off the telly and sat down next to her.

'Pizza.' He said, and opened one of the boxes.

'I hope it's not anchovy.' She said.

'No anchovy. Lots of olives though.' He offered her a slice .

'I'm not very hungry.' She said. Smiled and refilled her glass. 'Do you want some?' He raised his beer bottle.

'Oh.' She said.

She was wearing white and blue flannel pyjamas, and he could see she'd washed her hair and had forgotten to comb it. It had dried up really strange.

'I'm not going to ask you.' She said. Her voice was slurred. 'I'm definitely not going to ask you if you'll stay, cause you'll think I'm all clingy and mad. I just want you to stay, that's all.' She blinked.

'I'm not going anywhere.' He said, and kissed her hair. 'Come on, let's get you to bed.'

* * *

Things were alright when she woke up. Mitchell was lying in bed next to her, wearing only – she had to look under the duvet – a pair of boxers. But her head hurt, and she couldn't remember last night.

Making love to him turned out to be the best hangover cure.

'Just lie down.' He said. 'You'll feel better soon.'

Slowly he explored her body with his hands and tongue, until she couldn't take anymore and grabbed his hair, pulling his head close to hers, kissing him until she was out of breath, while he drowned himself deep inside her.

* * *

This time it hadn't been difficult to control himself. Somehow she reminded him of the person he'd been before the all consuming hunger Herrick had inflicted upon him. She was so much like Lily – his cousin Lily.

Once he'd left school and the bullying was over, he'd become quite the ladies' man. Girls were easily attracted to him, and he found he knew exactly how to woe them. His confidence almost made him arrogant. Almost, but not entirely. He just liked them too much.

He loved to see them happy, but he was never really in love himself. A problem which he solved by not telling them. He was lousy at breaking up with them once his brief interest had gone. He didn't want to hurt them, but things ended ugly anyway by the time one of his many conquests discovered she wasn't the one, but instead one of many.

Lily had told him off. 'You don't love them. What you're doing is cruel.' He could see she was serious. She always knew. Pretending to her was no use. 'When you meet the right one you'll know.' She said. 'You should stop acting. You'll only break their hearts, and for what? A warm body at night? Someone to help ward off the nightmares?'

Maybe it was because she'd always been there that it took him so long to realise. Or maybe it was because she knew him too well. It took him a long time to discover she was his 'one', the girl he'd always regarded as his sister, a girl so much like him. By the time he found out she'd married Sean O'Brien and he'd joined the army.

'So he's the one?' he'd asked her one day when he was on leave. She watched him in his uniform, almost a stranger, far more serious than the childhood friend she'd had.

'Maybe he is.' She said.

'I've been hoping it would have been me.' He told her, matter of fact. That was the last they had spoken on the subject. There was no point.

At least, that's what he'd thought. But one night, two days before he had to go back to work, he met her outside his bedroom door. Sean was away on a business trip.

'Why are you up, Lily?' he'd asked.

'Why are you, John?' she'd replied.

She was his cousin, and she was married, but it had felt so right. They'd spent the rest of his leave together, never once leaving the house.

'What's going to happen to us?' she'd asked when he kissed her goodbye at the train station.

'We'll work something out.' He'd said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

His next leave had been four months later. She and Sean seemed very happy. There was even a baby on the way. She let him touch her growing belly when Sean was out. He made love to her one more time, slowly and careful not to hurt her.

'He's a good man.' She said. 'I don't think I could hurt him.' She rubbed her belly while she told him that maybe there wouldn't be anything to work out anymore. Two days later his regiment was sent to war.

* * *

'Tell me something about _you_.' She said. They'd just had dinner and now they were drinking coffee, still sitting opposite one another at her kitchen table.

'Like what?' he asked.

'Something I don't know. I mean, I know you've traveled, that you're Irish, that you and Mel had a thing once, and I know what makes you ticklish and that you like olives. And I know about the seizures.'

He put down his cup. 'That's not me. That's just something that happens to me.'

'I know.' She said, and told him about her blood disorder. 'I hate it. My P.E. teacher called me the girl with the blood disorder. Like that's all there is to me.'

He got up and refilled their cups. He lit a cigarette, standing by the sink.

'No, that's not who you are.' He said. She watched him inhale and blow out smoke.

'Tell me who _you_ are, Mitchell.'

* * *

A mouth, he thought. Instead he watched her and said 'No good, but I already told you that.'

She frowned. 'I think you should stop telling me that. Unless you care to prove it. Was it messy?'

He felt his face drain of colour.

'When you and Mel broke up? I know she introduced us, but somehow I've got the feeling she's not that thrilled about you and me. Us.'

He coughed, relieved. 'It's always messy. I've hurt her, you know.'

She smiled. 'Mel's tougher than you think. Did you know she was the one who found Declan? She tried to save his life. Even if it didn't help, she tried.'

Mitchell nodded. She sure did, he thought. After she'd taken Declan's life.


	8. Chapter 8

She could see he was restless.

'Maybe you should go out for a bit. Take a walk.' She suggested. She sat on the sofa reading drafts of chapters of her thesis. The table was covered with papers. She bit the end of her red pencil and watched him. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but thought better of it.

'Maybe I will.' He said, and grabbed his coat. Without another word he left.

* * *

He knew he had to tell her about Bristol, but he didn't know how. They were practically living together now, and he liked it. Loved her company. Most of his clothes were in her flat, and he hardly ever visited his bedsit. But he knew it wasn't going to last, and that made him sad.

Outside it was cold. The icy wind cleared his head. He decided to go to a nearby park. The park was silent. There were hardly any people. It was too cold. He watched an old couple walking their dog. The woman waved. He pulled up the collar of his coat, hands deep in his pockets. He wished he wouldn't feel the hunger, but he did.

He saw a young couple sitting on a bench. They were snogging. He was about fifty yards away from them, and could hear their heartbeats loud and clear. There were no other people in sight. He preferred a single prey, but he could handle two easily. He walked passed them and watched them from between a couple of trees.

They were whispering, but he could hear every word they said, as loud as if they were screaming in his ears. He could smell her perfume and his after shave lotion. He concentrated on their heartbeats, until their voices were drowned by the beat of the blood pumping round.

They've done nothing wrong. They're still young. They don't deserve to die. Not now, not by you, the voice of his conscience nagged. It was quite weak. The hunger came first.

He was ready for the kill, and had forgotten all about his conscience, when suddenly his phone rang. He wanted to turn it off, but found that he couldn't. He cursed himself. Why the hell had he chosen a special ringtone for her number? One he couldn't possibly ignore?

The couple had heard his phone ring. They watched him from their bench. Mildly interested, not a bit scared. He leant against a tree and answered.

'Mitchell, do you think you could bring me some milk? Two pints, semi-skinned?' She sounded very close, and he already felt the blood rush subsiding.

'Okay. Do you need anything else?' he replied.

'No, that's all. Are you alright?' Lily asked.

'Absolutely. Couldn't be better.' He lied, and ended the call. Milk, he thought. Blood. Milk. He started shaking, as the flow of adrenaline ceased. Suddenly he felt sick. He had to hold on to the tree to steady himself.

'Are you alright?' he heard someone say. It was the boy from the couple. He was standing quite close, a look of concern on his face.

'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.' He said.

* * *

He didn't look fine, Lily thought. He put the milk in the fridge and lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking. She sat down next to him.

'God, you're cold.' She said, rubbing his arm.

He didn't look at her. In no time he finished one cigarette and lit another. She could see there was sweat on his brow. She tried to read his mind, but his face was a blank. An angry blank. He might just as well wear a mask.

She didn't understand, but didn't think she really wanted to know.

'I've still got some work to do. I better get started.' She said, and tried to sound cheerful, but failed miserably.

'Yeah.' He said, avoiding her gaze.

She got her books and returned to her computer.

She found it difficult to concentrate. She had no idea what was wrong, and quite frankly, it scared her. Was it something she had done? Or did he have issues she hadn't even scratched the surface of? She hoped not. She was sick of things being complicated. Declan's death had been complicated, and so had living alone. I deserve something positive, she thought. Please don't be an addict, or depressed. I'm just not up to it. I'm enough of a mess myself.

Suddenly she was tired. She opened a folder of childhood photographs. Declan and Lily, their parents George and Frances, still young and relatively carefree. She watched herself on a beach, up to her head buried under the sand. It had been a hot day and she had been thirsty.

She couldn't free herself, and Declan didn't want to help her out. In the end her dad had saved her. That evening she had been ill with sunburn. She watched herself stroking their cat, Thomas. That was before he'd run away. Declan had been jealous of her, she remembered, because Thomas favoured her.

A hand on her shoulder. Less cold than about an hour ago.

'I'm going to bed. I'm knackered.' He whispered in her hair and kissed her ear.

'I'll join you in a minute.' She said, glad things seemed to have returned to normal. She closed the photo folder and did a spell check on the two paragraphs she had written. When she opened her bedroom door he was fast asleep, taking up most of the space with his long limbs. She curled up next to him and closed her eyes.

* * *

She had a nightmare. Her screams woke him. She moved her hands frantically. He couldn't understand what she was saying. He pulled her close and tried to wake her up. She clawed at his face.

'Declan, you have to help me! Don't leave me here on my own. Mummy says you've got to help me.'

He called her name. 'You're having a bad dream.'

She shivered as she opened her eyes.

'You had a nightmare.' He said.

'I used to have nightmares every night. I don't have them anymore. Not often, anyway.'

'You were dreaming about Declan.' He said.

'Did I? What did I do?'

'You asked him to help you.'

She frowned. 'Him help me? That's a first. Usually I find him covered in blood, and he asks _me_ to help _him_. Are you sure you heard it right?'


End file.
